Green and Gold
by Elf Eye
Summary: Anomen (aka Legolas), Elladan, and Elrohir are captured by some VERY, VERY bad men ("The Nameless One" series).
1. Chapter 1

**Folks, I'm disappointed, dispirited, mournful, and depressed. (Guess which candidate _I _voted for in the presidential election.) Maybe this explains why I am busy writing a nasty piece of work populated by nasty pieces of work. The only thing standing between Anomen and my destructive imagination is that everybody already knows that he survives to grow up as Legolas. That, and the fact that I adore him and have a crush on Orlando Bloom. Anyway, I'm going to go ahead and rate this as 'R' because of violence in an upcoming chapter. You have been warned!**

**Green and Gold: Part 1**

"I don't see how you can smile at a time like this," raged Glorfindel.

"I don't see how I can _not_," retorted Elrond, his eyebrows gyrating wildly in spite of his best efforts at restoring some modicum of facial order. "Look! Even Erestor is smiling."

"Only because he is amused at seeing me in such a state!"

"Well, of course. That's the whole point, isn't it," replied Elrond calmly. Erestor himself was incapable of speaking, for, in point of fact, he was not smiling so much as guffawing—a very unelvenly manner of expressing one's amusement, I might add. This unusual noise now brought Gandalf to the door of Elrond's chamber.

"Goodness!" exclaimed that worthy wizard. "Whatever has happened to—it is, Glorfindel, isn't it?"

Glorfindel emitted a tolerably good imitation of an Orc growl, and the Istar took a step back.

"He has had his shots, I hope," the Istar smirked.

"Shots?" said Elrond inquiringly.

"Never mind. Something that will make sense sometime in a future Age. But, pray, tell me how Glorfindel has come to be such a lovely shade of green."

"Can you not guess?" snorted Glorfindel.

"Wouldn't have anything to do with elflings, would it?"

"Yes," snapped Glorfindel. "With elflings who will be very lucky to reach elfhood, if I have anything to say about it!"

"I must tell you, Glorfindel, that I just now saw three elflings running at breakneck speed for the woods. At the rate they were scampering, I am quite sure they will reach pretty much any destination they choose before _you_ have anything to say about it."

Glorfindel sighed in defeat and turned to Elrond.

"Elrond, how long will it take to remove this foul mess from my skin?"

Elrond shook his head doubtfully.

"I must say that my sons have outdone themselves this time. I do not know what they have added to the mixture, but it is adhering much better than it did the time the time they turned Erestor purple."

Glorfindel groaned.

"If I recall correctly, Erestor was purple for a fortnight—was that not so?"

This reminder of his own former plight sobered Erestor considerably, and he now looked upon Glorfindel with considerable sympathy. He cast about for some way to cheer up the balrog-slayer.

"It is true that I was a hideous shade of purple for a fortnight, Glorfindel, but this green color rather becomes you, I think. It goes well with your golden hair. I have always thought that green and gold—"

Elrond interrupted the tutor.

"Erestor, I really don't think that your words are helping matters."

"Oh, yes, of course," Erestor hastily agreed as he realized that Glorfindel's face—what could be seen of it, anyway—was becoming suffused with an interesting shade of red. "Well, perhaps I should go and ask the Head Housekeeper to see to the heating of a great quantity of water."

"Yes, that would be wise," said Elrond. "I have used up the small quantity that was to hand. Several large cauldrons will be necessary, I think."

While this conversation had been taking place, the elflings had indeed been fleeing into the woods as fast as their fleet feet would carry them—which was very fast indeed, for even though they were little, they were still elf-kind. Now they huddled in Anomen's favorite oak tree.

"If only Glorfindel hadn't come along," lamented Elrohir. "It was the perfect plan!"

"It couldn't have been the perfect plan," retorted Elladan, "else we wouldn't be in this fix."

"No use arguing over whether it was or was not the perfect plan," Anomen pointed out. "Glorfindel tripped the rope, and there's an end of it."

"No," moaned Elrohir, "there's the beginning of it. If the bucket had tipped onto Thoron, we'd be in trouble, but now we are in peril of our lives!" Thoron, it should be mentioned, had been promoted by Glorfindel to the next cohort and as a result for several weeks had been lording it over our elflings.

"This," continued Elrohir, his voice rising to a wail, "is the worst thing that could possibly have befallen us!"

"Oh, I don't know," said Elladan thoughtfully. "Mithrandir could have tripped the rope. That would be pretty bad, I think."

The three elflings sat and reflected upon that possibility.

"Ye-es," said Elrohir at last. "That _would_ be pretty bad. Mithrandir would pay us back by turning us into dreadful colors that would _never_ wash off."

"True," said Anomen gloomily, "but Glorfindel can turn us into colors that will fade after awhile but will be very painful while they last."

"What colors?" asked Elladan nervously.

"For starters, black and blue. After awhile, though, various shades of purple, green, and yellow. You've seen what a bruise looks like, haven't you, and the colors it will change into?"

In the course of various escapades, they had indeed all accumulated their fair share of bruises. They had also all heard dreadful stories about how Men would whip their younglings when they misbehaved. Had they behaved so badly that Glorfindel would treat them like man-children? Elladan shuddered, remembering the sound of the balrog-slayer's bellows that had pursued them as they ran for cover.

"Perhaps we should spend the night here," he suggested timidly. "Glorfindel may not be so angry in the morning."

Elrohir shook his head.

"Not here. Ada knows perfectly well that this is Anomen's favorite tree. It is one of the first places he would look."

The elflings discussed and rejected several possible hiding places. At last they concluded that there was nowhere within Imladris where they could remain undiscovered. They eyed the mountain that loomed over the valley.

"Do you suppose," Elrohir began tentatively, "do you think—"

"No!" interrupted Elladan. "Absolutely not!"

"But, Elladan," argued Anomen, "if we cannot hide _within_ Imladris, then the only thing to do is to hide _without_ it."

Of course, there was a third alternative: they could return to the Hall and face the consequences of their actions. However, like younglings of all races, they were inclined to think in 'either-or' terms. Either they hid within the valley, or they hid without it. As it was plain that they could not hide within it, at last, after considerable argument, they all agreed that they would have to seek sanctuary outside it. They slipped away from the comfort of the oak tree and headed for the hills, so to speak.

Back in Rivendell, however, Elrond was giving no thought to pursuing them. He knew that the elflings would have to return to the Hall eventually, and when they did he would deal with them. Now he saw that Arwen was safely bestowed for the night before returning to his chamber, there to share the usual glass of wine with his friends. Glorfindel joined the party, and he was in considerably better humor than he had been earlier, for, after experimenting with various ingredients, Elrond had brewed a mixture that had largely restored the balrog-slayer to his former color. True, Glorfindel was a bit green behind the ears—'green around the gills', Erestor joked—but otherwise he looked quite presentable.

"It is good that Elrond is such a master of herb lore," Gandalf observed between sips from his glass. "If he were not, Rivendell would be a very colorful place. Hardly a week goes by without those younglings cooking up some variegated potion."

"I must say, Glorfindel," smiled Elrond, "that your _language_ was for a time quite colorful today."

"Indeed it was," agreed Erestor. "Turned the air quite blue, it did!"

They all laughed genially, Glorfindel not excepted. As they did so, they heard the patter of raindrops.

"Ah," said Elrond, arising and going to the window. "It has looked like rain since morning. Good. Rain is needed, for it has been unusually hot and dry these past several days."

"Are the miscreants still without the Hall?" asked Gandalf.

"Yes," said Elrond. "Probably they have taken shelter in Anomen's oak tree. They will be safe enough there. I hear no thunder and see no lightning. Tomorrow, wet and hungry, they will return. I must think on their punishment."

"As they like applying colors," suggested Erestor, "is there nothing needs painting?"

"Now you mention it," said Elrond, "the walls of the kitchen have grown rather dingy over the eons. A coat of paint would be just the thing. Indeed, it will probably take two or three coats of paint to restore the room to its former fresh appearance. Glorfindel, weren't you planning on taking our mischief-making elflings on a boating excursion upon the Bruinen?"

"Yes. As it has lately been so hot, I thought that they and the remainder of their training cohort might benefit from a break in the usual regimen of weapons training. I had planned to allow them to boat, fish, and swim."

"Excellent. And while you and all the others are boating, fishing, and swimming, Elladan, Elrohir, and Anomen will be painting."

"You are wise, Elrond," said Gandalf, raising his glass in a salute to the elf-lord.

As the elders sat in comfort in Elrond's chamber, the rain fell harder and harder, and three very miserable elflings labored their way up a slope that grew more and more slippery. Soon the runaways looked as if they themselves had been painted, but with mud rather than the bright colors that they favored for their concoctions.

"Maybe we should go back," muttered Elladan through a mouthful of mud.

"Like this!?" exclaimed Elrohir, horrified at the thought of how they must look. Of all the elflings, he was the one most concerned with appearances. Anomen, of course, always kept himself very tidy, but mainly because he hated to feel dirty. Now he daubed at his face with a wet sleeve, but merely succeeded in smearing the mud more effectually.

"I think Elladan is right," he said miserably. "We should go back before this mud dries upon us and we are too stiff to move!"

"That will not happen anytime soon," argued Elrohir. "Look at the clouds. They have plenty more water to pour upon us."

"Then we should go back for that reason," Anomen promptly replied. "The weather is too foul for us to remain outside."

"Quite right, young one," said a voice near to hand. The three elflings gasped, and each simultaneously reached for the others. Three frightened faces peered out from a muddy ball of quaking, tangled elflings. A Man, well-cloaked against the weather, stood observing them with a smile upon his lips that did not extend to the rest of his face—particularly not to his eyes, which had an eerie depthlessness to them.

"I have been watching you make your way up this slope," the Man continued. "Now, I wonder why three elflings so young would be out in such a storm, and heading away from shelter rather than to it. But I will not question you! No, I merely mean to offer you my assistance. I can lead you to a nearby cave. There you can shed your drenched garments and warm and dry yourselves."

"We are not allowed to go into caves," Elrohir said hastily. "Trolls may lurk within."

"Ah, but I can promise you that there will be no Troll in _this_ cave," replied the stranger. "I have personally made sure of _that_."

The elflings exchanged looks. An enemy of Trolls. They had that in common with the Man. Should they thereby trust him? Elladan and Elrohir looked to Anomen, who had been out in the world more than they had. Wordlessly, Anomen shook his head. It meant nothing that the Man had slain a Troll, for even Orcs were troll-foes. Trolls were not particular about who they ate, so they were universally detested.

"Sooo, you do not wish to enter my cave," said the Man, who had observed the exchange of glances and gestures. Before the elflings could reply, he stepped forward, seized Anomen's wrist and yanked him away his companions. Spinning Anomen about so that the elfling faced his friends and holding a knife to his throat, the Man smirked at Elladan and Elrohir.

"I see that you defer to this one," he said to the two. "He is precious to you, no doubt. You had better follow me then, if you do not wish him to come to any harm."

Elladan and Elrohir looked helplessly at one another. They could run for help, but then the Man likely would kill Anomen in order to make his escape unencumbered by his prisoner.

"We-we will go with you!" stammered Elrohir. Beside him, Elladan nodded his head.

"Good. You are not altogether foolish, even if you have been wandering about in the wild in the middle of a torrential rain. Cultivate wisdom in the future, and you will not do too badly in the place to which I will take you."

Keeping a tight grip on Anomen's wrist, the Man turned and stalked away. He did not look back. He knew Anomen's friends would not abandon him.

Man and elflings crested the mountain and started down toward the valley on the other side. At length they came to a well-hidden cave. From the clutter and noisome odor within, the elflings knew that a Troll must have inhabited it in the not-too-distant past. One corner, however, had been cleared of debris, and there camping kit and bedroll were laid out neatly.

Once inside, the Man released Anomen's wrist.

"Strip off those wet things," he ordered the elflings. "Your boots, too."

The elflings obeyed and waited expectantly to be given dry clothes.

The Man laughed.

"Surely you don't think I'm going to give you garments in which you can escape."

He gathered up their boots and clothes, dumped them into a chest, locked it, and pocketed the key. He pointed toward a corner.

"The previous inhabitant of this cave left behind some blankets. You may wrap yourselves in them."

The elflings examined the soiled and ragged coverings. The Troll must have dwelt in the cave very recently indeed, for the blankets were still crawling with vermin. The elflings opted to forgo any coverings and instead huddled together for warmth. Meanwhile, the Man busied himself with starting a fire. Even though the Man built the fire as near as possible to the entrance, the cave was soon quite smoky. This did not seem to bother the Man, but the elflings were used to well-ventilated dwellings. Soon they were coughing, and their eyes filled with tears. The Man laughed at their discomfort as he handed them a trencher filled with chunks of bread and strips of meat.

"You've led pampered lives, I'll warrant. Well, you'll be pampered no more—I can promise you that!"

After the Man and the elflings had eaten, the Man set about dragging casks and barrels to the opening of the cave, barricading it quite completely save for a small opening at the top through which smoke might continue to exit. The elflings watched with despair as they did so, for they knew it would be difficult—perhaps impossible—to move any of the containers without making noise. The Man was not done yet, however. When he had finished the barricade, he suddenly seized Anomen and dragged him to his bedroll.

"This one I will hold onto," he told Elladan and Elrohir. "If he stirs, I shall know it. As for you, you might be tempted to try to flee, but remember this: if you do, this one dies as soon as I shall know of it!"

The Man was really quite clever. He could have tied the elflings' hands behind their backs, but they might have contrived to loose one another's bonds. Now, even with their limbs free, they would go nowhere.

Having issued this threat, the Man lay down upon his bedroll with one arm tightly gripping Anomen around the waist. Anomen gave a sudden yelp of pain and indignation. With his free hand, the Man had pinched his bottom. The Man laughed.

"It's lucky for you that I have no interest in pretty Elves," he leered at a confused and frightened Anomen. "At least, it is lucky for you this one night. But there are those who do have such an interest. I'll wager _you'll_ never end up as a galley slave."

Anomen could not even begin to grasp the import of the Man's words, but this much he understood: whatever had served to protect him that one night, it would be no protection against the future. With this unhappy thought in mind, Anomen at last fell into a fitful sleep, his eyes squeezed shut against the stinging smoke and his own fear. Elladan and Elrohir fared little better. The best that could be said for them was that at least they had one another to cling to, rather than being held in the crushing grip of a Man who stank of beer, sweat, smoke—and death.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Annie: _Actually, thank you for rambling. Made me feel better.**

**_Dragonfly: _Yes, the elflings are really in for it this time.**

**_Joee_****: Oh, wonderful! You _like_ that I'm sad because it makes my stories more _interesting_!? Well, maybe I'll just go get my fingers caught in a door. I'll be _very_ sad—but I won't be able to write! He he! **

**_Andi_****_-Black: _Naw, I'm not evil—just disgruntled.**

**_Karri: _You like angst? _I'll_ give you angst!**

**Beta reader: _Dragonfly_**

**Warning: Remember, folks, this is an R-rated story. No especial violence in this chapter, but there will be a nasty scene in Chapter 3.**

**Green and Gold: Chapter 2**

The next morning the Man again fed the elflings. Then he returned their boots and garments. Of course, having been closed in a chest all night, these were still sopping, and the elflings shuddered as they pulled on each clammy item. At least the rain had stopped, so they had the consolation of knowing that their garments would dry as they walked.

Keeping a secure grip on Anomen's wrist, the Man set a fast pace once they had left the cave. He strode with great assurance, as if he had a particular destination in mind. After awhile, he slowed a little and seemed to be looking for signs. "Ah," he muttered at last, peering at a tree trunk upon which some markings had been carved. "The southern rendezvous, I see. Good. That takes us in the direction of home—and we should make for it without too much delay, for no doubt we will soon be pursued."

Anomen overheard these muttered words, and they made him both fearful and hopeful and fearful in turn. He knew that the 'home' the Man meant to make for was not his home. Not good. On the other hand, Anomen hoped that the Man was right about Elves riding to the rescue. There was a bad side to that, though. Anomen was sure that, if the Man became aware of the rescuers as they drew near, he would kill him and his friends before fleeing.

No rescue had yet been mounted, however. By this time Elrond did know that his sons had not returned to the Hall during the night, but he had been neither surprised nor alarmed when they did not appear for breakfast. No doubt, he thought, the younglings realized that they were in a great deal of trouble and would try to avoid their elders as long as possible. He was not even worried when they did not show up for the noon meal. When they were still missing that evening, however, he became concerned, as did Glorfindel. Since the balrog-slayer was in charge of the scouts, he well knew that the vicinity of Imladris was not free of all perils. As the moon would be full that night, he decided to commence a search at once. First he had his Elves methodically scour all the places within the valley of Imladris itself where elflings could have taken refuge. When the elflings were not found, the scouts began to slowly move up the mountainside. Near the top they found a place where the marks of elfling feet could be seen. From there they had no difficulty following the trail, which was periodically marked by small wallows, spots where Anomen and the others had slipped and fallen. Glorfindel smiled a little, imagining to himself how besmirched the younglings must have become. "Serves them right," he chuckled to himself. "Taste of their own medicine, really."

Glorfindel's lighthearted mood was, however, replaced by one of alarm when he saw that the footsteps of the elflings had been joined by those of a Man. A Man who drew near to Rivendell yet did not descend all the way to the valley—that was not good. If the Man was a friend, why had he not presented himself at the Hall and sought shelter from the storm? Why was he now accompanying the elflings toward the crest of the mountain instead of escorting them to their home? Glorfindel was certain that, had this Man been a Ranger, he would have forthrightly taken the elflings in hand and seen to their safe return. This Man was no Ranger; it was therefore all too likely that he was a foe.

The balrog-slayer sent a runner to the Hall to inform Elrond that the elflings were making for the crest of the mountain in the company of a Man, and a strange one at that. Elrond would, he knew, put his warriors on the alert, for it was possible that this Man was a spy and that a force of his compatriots lurked nearby.

Having dispatched the messenger, Glorfindel and his scouts began to follow the trail with all possible speed. The Man may have had as much as a full day's head start, and the Elves meant to more than make up for his advantage. Thus it was that in short order they came upon the cave where the Man and the elflings had sheltered the night before.

"They must have left this morning," said Berenmaethor from the spot where he knelt by the cold campfire. "They have had the entire day to travel."

Glorfindel nodded unhappily. Berenmaethor was all too likely correct. While they had gone about their business in Rivendell, confident that the elflings would reappear at any moment, the young ones had in fact been journeying ever further from home. It was very near dawn now. The Elves could only hope that, once night had fallen, Man and elflings had again paused to rest. If they had traveled throughout the night, that would be very bad, particularly if this had allowed the Man to join up with any who might have accompanied him to this region.

Ai! Glorfindel's fears were to prove all too real! That first night the Man had taken shelter only because of the storm. The next night he had allowed the elflings no more than brief periods of rest. Inexorably he dragged Anomen onward, and Elladan and Elrohir followed doggedly in his wake. The two could have fled at any time, but they were too fearful for their foster-brother's safety to have done so.

It was now their second dawn as the unwilling companions of the Man, and they became aware of a thin spiral of smoke beyond a hill they were approaching. "Will have to mend that fire so it doesn't smoke," the Man muttered. "Right now we might as well be signaling to the Elves!"

The Man and his hostages climbed over the hill, and to the horror of the elflings, there lay an encampment of Men—thirty at the very least! They had never seen so many Men at once—not even the twins, who had been present at many feasts at which Elrond had entertained human emissaries.

The Man, however, was now in an excellent humor, and he addressed his prisoners in a jovial tone.

"Now you young ones will be able to rest a bit before we move on—aren't you glad for that!?"

The elflings stared back at him wordlessly, and he laughed at their fear and bewilderment. Then he dragged an exceedingly reluctant Anomen down the hill and into the camp, with Elladan and Elrohir once again bringing up the rear.

"Hey, look what the Cat has dragged in," shouted a Man, who looked up from a campfire where he was toasting a hunk of bread on a stick.

'The Cat'—for this proved to be their captor's nickname—grinned broadly.

"Aye, three meek mice I found scampering about far from their nest," he chortled.

Men clustered around, poking and prodding at the elflings. The Cat had let go of Anomen's wrist, but, as he was surrounded by large humans, neither his situation nor his foster-brothers' had improved in the slightest.

"Say, Cat," said one Man, fingering Elladan's tunic, "this is fine stuff."

"Aye," agreed another, similarly examining Elrohir's garments. "Elves are generally nicely garbed, but these three are dressed well even for Fair Folk!"

As for Anomen, his clothes escaped examination, but only because a Man was running his large and dirty hand through the elfling's hair.

"Look at the hair on this one," he exclaimed. "Sure, you could weave it into silk, so soft and fine it is."

Anomen was now glad when his captor reached into the mass of bodies and yanked him out by the wrist.

"His hair is more valuable on his head," scowled the Cat. "Hands off!"

"But their clothes," retorted the Man who had first commented on the elflings' apparel. "Their clothes alone are worth a fortune."

The Cat considered.

"You have a point, Geldgier," he said at last. "Very well. Find some other clothes for them, and we'll sell each garment separately. Yes, they'll probably fetch more piecemeal than as a lot."

For the second time the elflings were forced to strip, and the experience was not improved through repetition. Indeed, the hostages were rather worse off, for they were surrounded by spectators who hooted and made ribald observations about the elflings' anatomy. Anomen couldn't quite grasp the mechanics, but he was beginning to gather some idea as to why the Man had said that he 'would never end up as a galley-slave'. On the whole, he thought being a galley-slave would be the better alternative.

After they had stripped—the Men stole even their boots—the elflings were tossed tunics that were rather too large for them. With strips of rope, they belted the tunics around their waists. No replacements were forthcoming for their boots; nor were they given leggings. The dirty, worn tunics were to be their only garments, apparently.

After they had donned the tunics, Elladan and Elrohir were set to gathering wood and fetching water. Once again the Cat kept Anomen close as surety for the twins. Although Anomen thus was spared any hard labor, he would have far rather joined the twins in their tasks. For one thing, the Man who had fingered his hair—Wollust he was called—lingered nearby, staring at Anomen in a most unpleasant manner. Once, when the Cat had gone into the woods nearby to make water, Wollust drew near and again stroked Anomen's hair. Anomen slapped his hand away, but the Man only laughed.

"I think I will buy you myself," he sniggered. Then he laughed all the harder at Anomen's expression before swaggering off. Elrohir and Elladan came back just then with armfuls of wood, and Elrohir glared hard at the back of the Man.

"Anomen, that's a very bad Man!"

"They're _all_ bad, Elrohir."

"Yes, but he's very, _very_ bad! You have to run away."

"But whenever we are together, we are watched! How can we run away?"

"I didn't say _we_ had to run away. _You_ do. And you can do it easily, too, I think. When you are in the center of the camp, they don't watch us because they don't think we'd run away and leave you behind. If _we_ were in the center of the camp, perhaps they wouldn't watch you so carefully because they'll think you wouldn't leave _us_ behind."

Anomen was horrified.

"But, Elrohir, I _wouldn't_ leave you behind. The Cat said he'd kill me if you ran off; wouldn't he kill you if _I_ ran off?"

Elrohir shook his head.

"Not now, he wouldn't. If we'd run off before, when we were so near to Imladris, he would have promptly killed you so as to make a quick escape before we could lead our warriors to him. But if you were to run off now, he would not feel the need to slay us at once. He could afford to wait and consider what it would be best to do because he is further from Imladris and his Men surround him now. They could try to beat back any Elves who came looking for us. So likely he will try to salvage some profit by holding on to us even after you have fled."

Elladan spoke then.

"Elrohir is right. We are worth a lot to these Men. Even if you run off, they won't want to hurt us. As soon as they realize you are gone, they may break camp to evade pursuit, but they will want to take us with them."

"But I don't want them to take you with them," said Anomen miserably.

"Of course not," agreed Elrohir. "But be mindful of this: if you run off, you will be able to summon help, even if you will not be able to do so immediately. In the end," he added confidently, "our people will rescue us."

"But why don't you and Elladan run off?" argued Anomen. "We already know that you can leave the camp, and then our warriors would have to rescue only one Elf instead of two."

Elrohir tried to explain as best he could.

"Anomen, you are in greater danger than either of us."

"I don't see why!"

"Trust me, Anomen. You are! I do not understand why, but I am sure of it."

"Besides," added Elladan cleverly, "as there are two of us, our absence will be noticed the sooner."

"Yes," Elrohir said quickly. "Also, you are smaller—your disappearance is more likely to be overlooked for a time."

At last Anomen reluctantly agreed. The three elflings settled themselves by a fire in the center of the camp. Anomen asked the Cat if he might have something to drink. The Cat handed him a water bladder. Anomen drank greedily. A little while later, Anomen asked the Cat if he might go into the forest to make water. The Cat nodded, but as Anomen arose, the Man seized the elfling by the wrist, drew his knife and pointed it at Elladan and Elrohir.

"Those two have been very loyal; they did not run off when they had the chance because they did not wish any harm to befall you. I trust that you will be equally loyal to them."

"I will," said Anomen, and he spoke with the utmost honesty. He was determined to fetch help as fast as ever he could.

Satisfied, the Cat released his wrist, and Anomen walked into the woods. As soon as he was hidden by the trees, he broke into a run.

As Anomen entered the woods, he did not notice another figure slinking into the brush. Now, as he fled toward Rivendell, he did not realize that this same furtive figure trailed after him, drawing ever closer to the elfling with every step.


	3. Chapter 3

**Folks, I'm posting this short, third chapter quickly, without benefit of beta reader, to reassure _Griffin_. Things get nasty, but not _that_ nasty! Honest!**

**Oh, but the story is _still_ rated 'R' for violence. You'll see why in a minute.  
**

**Green and Gold: Chapter 3  
**

Anomen was well out of earshot of the camp before the person following the elfling revealed himself. It happened when Anomen stopped to drink from a stream. As he knelt upon its bank, he sensed movement behind him. He leaped to his feet and tried to spin about, but before he could do so, he was knocked down by a heavy blow to the side of his head. Dazed, he looked up to see Wollust.

"Hah! You're mine now," gloated the Man. "And I won't have to pay so much as a copper coin! This day I am high in the favor of the Gods!"

Anomen could not imagine that the Valar would favor a thief and a slave-catcher. On the other hand, he thought ruefully, it didn't seem as if they were particularly favoring _him_!

In one thing only did matters seem to go Anomen's way. The Man was anxious to place his prize beyond the reach of the Cat. Fearing pursuit, he did not stop to take pleasure in his new slave. Instead, yanking the elfling to his feet, he dragged him deeper into the forest—and the path they took was toward Imladris.

At about this time, the Cat noticed that Anomen had never returned from the forest. He stood above Elladan and Elrohir glowering down at them.

"So the brat has proved faithless," he snarled. "Now I've got to catch him all over again. He has caused me trouble, and you may be sure that I will take it out on your hides!"

Fortunately, before he could act upon this resolution, one of the other Men wondered aloud where Wollust had gotten to. The Man's rage instantly found another target.

"I see how it is," he growled. "Wollust has stolen away with him. Well, he is going to rue the day he ever took a fancy to that pretty Elf. I won't kill him—oh, no, that would be too easy! But I'll fix him so he'll never again take pleasure in the sight or the feel of Elf or maiden."

Since the Cat did not believe that Anomen had run away, he did not expect the elfling to lead any warriors back to the camp. Therefore, he gave no orders that they break camp and flee from those parts. He had meant to rest one full day, and he still intended to do so. Instead, he took a few picked Men and, going into the woods, he and his followers cast about until they came upon the trail of Anomen and his new master. Once they happened upon it, the hunt was on.

The Cat was well named, and the Men he had chosen did him credit. Together they moved through the forest as noiselessly as felines stalking their prey. Wollust had only lately become a member of their band, and he did not dream how closely they followed him. At last, he decided that it was safe to pause and indulge himself with his new possession. He suddenly jerked Anomen to a halt and threw him to the floor of the forest. Anomen landed on his stomach, and before he could react, Wollust had flipped him onto his back and straddled his hips, at the same time gripping Anomen's wrists and pulling his arms above his head. He smirked down at the terrified elfling trapped beneath him.

But the Valar had not in fact forgotten Anomen, although they chose a strange instrument by which to effect his rescue. Suddenly someone seized Wollust by the hair and yanked him off the elfling. The Man gave a howl of pain as he was flung unto the ground, but then he grew very quiet as he caught sight of his assailant. Above him, his knife drawn, stood the Cat.

"C-c-c-at," he stammered. "The l-l-ittle brat was running off, and I f-f-ollowed after him."

"Judging from the tracks," replied the Cat coolly, "you caught up with him several miles ago." He nodded at his Men.

"Tie him with his back to that tree."

The Men dragged Wollust to the tree and pulled his arms to either side of it so that, his eyes filled with dread, he stood facing the Cat, who carelessly played with his knife for a few minutes before drawing near to his victim. He stood considering for a moment, as if deciding what to do. In fact, he already knew what injuries he meant to inflict, and he was merely playing with his prey—like a cat. At last, slowly and deliberately, he raised the knife and held it so that it nearly touched one of Wollust's eyes.

Anomen was lying on the ground, too frightened to move. He squeezed his eyes shut when the Cat pointed his blade at Wollust's face, but he heard the wails of the Man as the Cat plunged his blade into first one eye, then the other. These wails were as nothing, however, to what Anomen heard next. For the Cat had not finished. Now he drove his knife into the crotch of the Man, twisting the blade several times for good measure. Wollust howled as if Sauron himself tormented him. The Cat stepped back and surveyed his handiwork. Satisfied, he nodded.

"That will do," he said. "I had thought to hack off his hands as well, but then he would die too quickly. It is better so."

Dismissing his victim from his mind, he now turned his attention to Anomen, who still lay on his back, his eyes tightly closed. The elfling gasped as the Cat leaned down and laid hold of him, but the Man merely tossed him over his shoulder, guessing—and rightly so—that Anomen would be incapable of walking for the time being. Draped over the Man's shoulder, Anomen kept his eyes squeezed shut the entire distance as he was carried back to the camp, and he did not open them until the Cat had dumped him by the campfire and he heard Elladan and Elrohir's worried voices.

"Anomen!" Elrohir said urgently. "Anomen, are you hurt?"

Anomen looked up at him in a daze but managed to speak.

"Not hurt, really, just, just, just—terrified!"

Elrohir helped him to sit up, and Elladan held a water bladder to his mouth. After a bit, Anomen had recovered enough to give an account to the twins of what had happened—but it was an account strangely lacking in details. The gist of it was that Wollust had followed him and tried to steal him for himself, but that the Cat had caught up with him and retaken the elfling.

Elrohir looked about the camp.

"At least that nasty Man hasn't returned. Has the Cat dismissed him from his company?"

"Yes," Anomen replied weakly. "He is no longer a member of the band."

And then he retched violently. Elrohir threw his arms around him, and Elladan patted his head. Anomen jumped when he first felt his foster-brother's hand upon his hair, but he calmed when he realized who it was.

Several decades would pass before Anomen told Elladan and Elrohir the complete story of what had happened in the woods. For one thing, he didn't altogether understand himself what had happened—or nearly happened—and until he did he couldn't explain matters to anyone else.

The twins, however, did not care about the details, for their only concern was for Anomen's well-being. He assured them again and again that he was uninjured, but still they would not leave off hovering over him. At last, though, they were forced away from him. The Cat abruptly decreed that they would break camp, even though it was near nightfall. Wollust's attempt to steal Anomen had impressed upon him the value of his captives, and he wanted to make for the south as rapidly as possible. "The sooner we return home," he thought to himself, "the sooner we will be sure of our profit." Now he strode to where the elflings huddled, seized Anomen, and flung him back over his shoulder. This one he would keep with him at all times. The twins began to protest, but he silenced them with a venomous glare before ordering Men to take charge of each of the two. Bearing Anomen, he took his place at the head of the column, and Elladan and Elrohir were jostled about somewhere in the middle of it. At his signal, the band moved out, heading south, with every step journeying further from Imladris and any hope of rescue.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Legosgurl_****: Goodness! Do stop to take a breath! I don't want any of my readers passing out on the floor! (Now, of course, I don't mind if they are in the situation of ROTFLMAO, although that doesn't seem likely to happen in this particular story.)**

**_Griffin_****: No problem. Apparently a few of my readers were rather startled at the turn the story took. But I would never, ever do anything that cruel to Anomen.**

**_Kel_****: The Rivendell cavalry will soon arrive (but on foot!).**

**MysticHeero****: Thank you, MysticHeero. I will indeed keep on writing, as it is so much fun, both the writing itself and hearing back from you folks!**

**_Joee_****: Um, the story will take one or two more twists. Not everyone will escape _entirely_ unscathed.**

**_Thereisnotryonlydo_****: Thank you so much! I mean, not for hoping that I remain depressed (or at least in the writing mode!) but for recommending me to your friends!**

**_Karri_: Yeah, I took that one right to the edge before I pulled it back. A few readers thought I was going to take it right _over_ the edge! Actually, I suppose that means the story was working. I put it in the Suspense category (as well as Angst, of course), and if readers were worried, then I guess it _was_ suspenseful!**

**_Andi_****_-Black:_ There is another 'Eww' paragraph in this chapter, I think. Hope you don't end up disturbing your Dad's sleep!**

**_Dragonfly_: Hmm, Andi-Black writes 'Eww', and you write 'Yuck'. Looks like this story has provoked some very visceral responses! Yes, in a way it does turn out for the best that Wollust followed Anomen. The twins had really put themselves into a risky situation by convincing Anomen to flee. Did you notice that Elrohir urged it first? For all his bullying, he really does love Anomen. Yes, Wollust learned his lesson—but it won't do him much good, now, will it!?**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_**

**Green and Gold: Chapter 4**

As the Men fled southward with their prisoners, Glorfindel and his scouts were journeying that direction as well. Had they been only a little further south, they might have heard the screams of Wollust and been able to put a speedy end to Anomen's distress, as well as to that of the twins. As it was, however, they did not become aware of Wollust until they drew near enough to hear the moans of the mutilated Man. They crept toward the sound and were horrified when they came upon him, still tied to the tree, his eyes gouged out, his genitals slashed. They untied him and laid him upon the ground. They offered him water, but he could only drink a little. It was enough, however, to allow him speak.

"Who did this to you?" demanded Glorfindel.

"The Cat—he did it."

Although Wollust could not see, he judged from the melodious voice of his questioner that he was an Elf, and he was eager to ingratiate himself with him.

"I was helping an elfling escape," he whimpered, "but we were captured, and this is how the Cat revenged himself upon me."

The Elves could not see into his eyes to judge the Man's truthfulness, but they knew he lied.

"You took the elfling for your own purposes and not out of kindness," said Glorfindel accusingly.

If the Man had had eyes, he would have wept. But his voice trembled as he admitted the truth.

"I did," he quavered. "I did steal him, but I have been punished, my Lords. Please do not torment me further!"

"We are neither Men nor Orcs, but Elves," Glorfindel declared indignantly. "Tell us what we want to know, and we will ease your passing."

"I will," gasped the Man.

"There was the one elfling?"

"Yes."

"Were there any others?"

"Two others—three in all. Two dark-haired, one light."

"Do the other two yet live?"

"They were well when I left the camp."

Relief showed on the face of each and every Elf. All three elflings had been taken captive—better than that any of them should have been slain—at least for the time being.

"Does their captor mean to keep them?"

"The Cat wishes to carry them to Harad, where they will fetch a fair price."

Glorfindel wished he could break his promise to not torture the Man before him, as he was the only one present upon whom he could vent his rage. But he held his fury in check because he had need of more information.

"This Cat is not alone?"

"No, he has a band of followers."

"How many?"

"Thirty at the least," gasped the Man.

"Well-armed?"

"All have swords. About half have bows."

"Well-led?"

"The Cat—the Cat—very clever he is."

"If we attack this band, would he slay his prisoners upon the instant?"

"They are very valuable. The Cat forfeits nothing of value without a struggle. But if the battle goes against him, he will slay them out of sheer spite."

Glorfindel nodded grimly. He had expected this answer. He stood thoughtfully, considering what it would be best to do. Berenmaethor interrupted his musings.

"Glorfindel, this Man has told us all that he knows. Let us now release him from his pain."

Glorfindel looked with revulsion upon the mutilated Man who writhed before him. It would indeed be a kindness to put him out of his misery—although it was a mercy the human surely did not deserve! Reluctantly, Glorfindel drew his knife, knelt by the Man, and drove his knife into the sufferer's throat. The Man gasped and gurgled briefly before he gave one last jerk and lay still.

Glorfindel wiped off his knife upon the dead Man's tunic. Then he arose.

"These Men lack even the semblance of a conscience. We must reach our kinsfolk as quickly as we may. If it suits the humans—if the elflings inconvenience them in any way—they would not hesitate to slay one or more of them. Aye, and it would be a brutal death, too. Given half a chance, these Men will wring as much entertainment as possible from a captive before killing him. They kill cleanly only when they are in a hurry and never out of mercy."

All the Elves looked grave. Rather than see the elflings subject to torture, they would rather slay the young ones themselves. Kin-slaying this would be, but they would willingly take upon themselves the suffering of knowing that they had killed one of their own if by doing so they could spare the victim pain.

For now, however, there was still hope that such a drastic step would be unnecessary. After tossing a few branches over the Man's body—they grudged the time necessary for a proper burial, deeming the elflings' welfare to be more important—the Elves loped off in pursuit of Anomen and his captors. The trail was now easy to follow, as many feet had trampled the vegetation, and the Elves did not mean to pause for rest until they had caught up with the Men and their prisoners.

The Cat, too, was determined to press on without rest or refreshment. Inexorably, he drove his Men forward, even after they had begun to grumble at the pace. But Men have not the resilience of Elves, and at last even the Cat's threats began to lose their efficaciousness. Rather than risk an open revolt that might jeopardize his leadership, the Cat wisely decided to call a halt. He tossed Anomen none too gently upon the ground and then curtly ordered Elladan and Elrohir to fetch wood. The twins were practically staggering from exhaustion because, unlike Anomen, they had had to run the entire distance, their guards slashing at their legs with sticks whenever they flagged. The Cat, however, had no pity, and they did not dare utter a word of complaint. Wearily they headed for the words and began to gather sticks. Suddenly Elladan straightened himself and listened intently to a bird that had been calling insistently for quite some time.

"Elrohir," he said softly, "do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"That bird."

" Of _course_ I hear that bird—we're in the woods, Elladan—what did you _expect_ to hear?"

Under normal circumstances, Elladan would have showered Elrohir with such endearments as 'troll-brain' or 'dwarf-pate', but these were not normal circumstances, and Elladan let the opportunity pass.

"Elrohir," he said, trying hard to keep from speaking loudly in his excitement, "that bird dwells only in one place in Middle-earth—in Lothlórien!"

"Then what's it doing here?" said Elrohir stupidly.

Elladan's eyebrows shot up in a fair imitation of Elrond's.

"Don't you see, Elrohir? It's not a bird!"

"Oh," said Elrohir. "OH!" he repeated, the truth at last dawning upon him. "Elladan, as we gather sticks, we must move toward the sound of that bird!"

"You don't say," retorted Elladan ironically, his eyebrows still elevated. Elrohir blushed a little, but then they got down to the business of edging toward the bird call, which was repeated every few minutes. They had each gathered quite a bundle of sticks before Glorfindel addressed them from out of a bush.

"You are greener than ever I was," he twitted them. "I was beginning to wonder if you would ever pay any mind to that bird call."

"We're sorry, Glorfindel," said Elrohir humbly.

Glorfindel chuckled.

"No need to apologize. That's just my way of saying that I am so very glad to see you well—reasonably well, at any rate. Why is Anomen not with you? I pray that he, too, is well."

"He is," replied Elladan. "But we all of us are never permitted to leave the camp at the same time. And Anomen is not allowed to leave the camp without a guard."

"I see."

Glorfindel considered and then told Elrohir to draw nearer. The balrog-slayer pulled his knife from its sheath.

"Elrohir, I am going to hide this knife in the midst of this bundle of sticks that you carry. When you return to camp, you must contrive to slip it to Anomen. Then you and Elladan must somehow manage to again leave the camp."

"As soon as the campfires need replenishing," said Elrohir, "we will be sent to gather more wood anyway."

"Good. Before you venture forth, tell Anomen that he should wait a bit and then try to get away from the camp himself. Even if he is accompanied by a guard, that will make our job the easier. We need merely pick off the guard and flee hence. A battle may not even be required."

Elrohir looked doubtful.

"I do not think they will let him leave until they see us return."

"You are probably right. But he should try. Tell him that if he is thwarted, he must not be dismayed. He should keep the knife on his person and stay alert. We will come for him."

"We will do exactly as you say," promised Elladan. Both he and his brother had determined expressions upon their faces.

"Good. I know that you will not fail. Go now."

As Glorfindel watched them head back toward the camp, he murmured to Berenmaethor, "At least Anomen is valuable enough to the humans to be especially guarded. That means he will certainly not be slain out of hand if we must attack the camp."

Berenmaethor nodded, and then he slipped off to move his scouts into positions nearer the camp.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Andi_****_-Black:_ You really like this 'ew' stuff, don't you? Hmmm.**

**_Blessing of Earendil:_ It's 'sister'. And thanks! Oh, wait a minute. (Author sees whip unfurling, crawls under desk—from which, may I point out, she is unable to type. Hah!)  
**

**_Thereisnotryonlydo_: As you wish.**

**_Neddie_****: I guess I am very cautious about the ratings. I suppose I could have rated the story PG-13. But, what with Wollust getting his eyes gouged out and his genitals mutilated, I thought I'd play it safe.**

** _Kel:_ Well, you are right in suspecting that the rescue does not go completely smoothly. There will be a couple of hitches.**

**_Karri:_ Yes, there is considerable risk involved. Things will get dicey there for a little while. **

**_Legosgurl_****: Breathe! Breathe! And, yes, I will update "Things Fall Apart" soon.**

**_Joee_****: The escape plan will be put into effect in this chapter. **

**_Dragonfly:_ You're right: the rescue won't go _completely_ smoothly. As for Wollust, yes, he wasn't eaten _alive_—emphasis on the _alive_.**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_**

**Green and Gold: Chapter 5**

With the knife hidden in the pile of sticks carried by Elrohir, the twins returned to the camp. Elrohir laid his wood near Anomen. He pulled out a stick and carefully fed it to the fire. The Cat looked at him approvingly.

"You have found a way to make yourself useful without waiting to be told. Good. If you show your new master such eagerness to please, you will fare well. Most masters have no desire to hurt their servants, for then they do not get as much work out of them. Indeed, many a master will show favor to a slave such as you, one who is willing to work hard without complaining."

Elrohir looked down to hide his face as he thanked the Cat for his words, but the Man mistook the gesture for one of subservience and was pleased all the more.

"You may get on with the business of tending the fire," he said grandly. He arose and swaggered off.

Elrohir pulled out another stick and slowly fed it to the fire. Then he handed a stick to Anomen.

"Anomen," he whispered, "feed this to the fire. When you have done, I will hand you several more sticks. In their midst you will find Glorfindel's knife. You must keep it handy but hidden."

Anomen gave no sign that he had heard, either by expression or gesture. He used his stick to stir the fire, and then tossed it upon the flames. Elrohir handed him the pile of sticks. Anomen took the uppermost one and fed it to the fire with one hand while surreptitiously drawing Glorfindel's blade from the pile of wood with the other. He slipped it under his tunic, pushing it so that the rope tied around his waist would hold the knife in place. Picking up another stick, he continued feeding the fire while Elrohir whispered more instructions.

"Glorfindel says that Elladan and I must return to the forest. After we are gone, see if the Cat will let you go into the forest as well, even if only with a guard. Glorfindel's warriors will deal with the guard, you may be sure!"

Anomen gave a slight, scarcely perceptible nod to show that he understood. After awhile, Elrohir arose and called to his twin.

"Elladan," he said, "we must gather more wood." The Cat, who had just returned to the fire, nodded approvingly as the two made for the forest. For awhile they stayed within view, at the very fringes of the trees. Hoping that the Cat's suspicions had been lulled by the fact that Elladan and Elrohir remained within sight, Anomen asked if he might go into the forest to make water. The Cat shook his head.

"As soon as those two return with the wood, I myself will take you into the forest."

Anomen played at being younger than he was. "I really have to go," he whined, shifting from leg to leg in a passable imitation of the bursting-bladder dance.

"Then make water where you stand," ordered the Cat.

"I don't want to, not in front of everybody!"

"Oh, aren't you a fine one," scoffed the Cat. "Don't want to display your goods! Well, you'll have to get over your shyness soon enough. I'll be doing you a favor if I make you start now. Cease your mewling and make water!"

"I don't think I have to make water after all," whimpered Anomen.

The Man laughed at his discomfiture, and fortunately for Anomen he did not press the matter. The elfling now made himself as small as possible and awaited further developments. At the sound of a bird call, Elrohir and Elladan disappeared into the forest, and for the first time Anomen realized that he had heard that bird in only one other place—the land of Lothlórien. He took a deep breath to steady himself.

Suddenly arrows were flying in from all sides, and Anomen flattened himself on the ground and prayed that he was about to be rescued. But Wollust had been right when he described the Cat as clever, for he immediately ordered his Men to charge toward the woods. They obeyed him without question. Even though they were heading toward the elven archers, this was in fact their best option. If they remained in the clearing, the Elves would simply pick them off. Instead, many would fall as they ran toward the woods, but those who reached the shelter of the trees might be able to beat off the Elves. It was plain that, although arrows had been loosed from all directions, the number of Elves could not be great. The Men would have the advantage of numbers if they could get under cover.

As the Cat had given the order, he had seized Anomen, and he held him up as a shield as he sprinted for the trees. Fortunately, he had flung his arms around the elfling's chest and did not feel the knife that was hidden at Anomen's side, under his loose tunic.

Once the Cat reached the relative safety of the forest, he threw Anomen upon the ground. "Stay by him," he ordered one of the Men, before sprinting off to rally the other survivors. The Man drew his sword and glared down at the elfling.

"Don't give me any trouble, elf-brat. You have less value by the minute."

Young as he was, Anomen understood why his value was plummeting. From the shrieks of injured and dying Men, he knew that things were still going badly for the humans—and therefore, ironically, his own situation was increasingly perilous, for the Men would slay him if it were plain that all was lost. If an Elf happened upon him quickly, well and good. Otherwise, he needed to break away before either his guard took it into his head to kill him or the Cat returned to do so. Yes, Anomen decided, he had to run for it, and he had to try to prevent any pursuit.

Moving his hands ever so slowly, his back half-turned, Anomen eased Glorfindel's knife out from under his tunic and then cautiously looked up at the Man who stood watch beside him. The human was gazing anxiously into the surrounding cover. Anomen took a deep breath and drove Glorfindel's knife deep into the Man's calf. The Man screamed and reached down to try and seize hold of Anomen, who, wisely, did not attempt to recover the knife but at once rolled to one side, then leaped to his feet and dove into the surrounding brush. Behind him the Man swore and tried to limp after him but quickly abandoned the attempt, collapsing to the ground and groaning piteously. Rocking back and forth, he was afraid to draw forth the blade because Anomen had been lucky in his blow, and the Man knew that he would likely bleed to death if the knife were removed without a tourniquet being applied at once.

Anomen had made his move none too soon. Nearby, the Cat had just abandoned his position—and his Men—for he deemed the situation to be hopeless. He had been hastening back to where he had left Anomen when he heard the guard scream. The Man quickened his pace, and when he came upon the guard, he realized at once that Anomen had escaped by his own devices, for the guard was still alive, as would not have been the case if any Elves had come upon him and his captive. This meant it might be possible for the Cat to recapture Anomen, and the Man vowed to himself that he would hack the elfling to pieces if he did manage to lay his hands upon him.

"Which way has the brat gone?" demanded the Cat.

"Into the brush over yonder," replied the wounded Man, pointing with one hand and clutching his leg with the other.

"Good," said the Cat curtly. By way of thanks, with one powerful swing of his sword, he decapitated the unfortunate guard.

"Incompetent fool," he muttered as he plunged into the brush in pursuit of Anomen. "Couldn't even keep hold of one elf-brat."

Anomen was making his way frantically through the undergrowth, and, unfortunately, in his haste he was leaving a clear trail of broken and bent branches and boughs. The Cat had no difficulty in tracking him. Anomen heard a sound and looked over his shoulder. There, only a few yards away, stood the Cat, grinning and hefting a dripping blade.

For the next several minutes, a deadly game of cat and mouse was played out amidst the trees. Anomen dodged around and around the tree trunks as the Man feinted at him with his sword. Anomen had the advantage of elven grace and speed, but he was very young, and the Man had the advantage of age and experience.

By this time, all the other Men had fallen, either wounded or slain, and the Elves were anxiously beating the bush in search of Anomen. Anomen tried to call out as he heard them shouting his name, but the Man pressed him so hard he was never able to draw enough breath to do so effectually.

It was Glorfindel who came upon Anomen's decapitated guard. At once the balrog-slayer recognized the blade that protruded from the Man's leg. That would have been Anomen's work, he knew, but the elfling could never have wielded the knife with enough force to hack off a Man's head. Glorfindel instantly saw how it had been: Anomen had wounded his guard and fled; another Man had come along—the Cat, probably—and in his anger had slain the guard before going off in pursuit of Anomen. If he caught the young one, he would kill him. Bow in hand, Glorfindel hastily set off on the trail of Man and elfling. Heedless of all obstacles, he bulled his way through the forest in a fashion that would have done an Orc proud.

As Glorfindel was frantically racing through the forest, the Cat had at last succeeded in trapping Anomen against a tree trunk. His feline instincts aroused, with his sword the Man poked and prodded at the elfling.

"Thought you could escape me," he hissed. "But you've only succeeded in providing me with some entertainment."

Anomen sank to the ground and huddled into a ball. Peeking out, he saw Cat raise his sword to deliver the killing blow. The elfling squeezed his eyes shut.

Glorfindel had at last caught up with Anomen and Cat and was a horrified witness to this tableau of murder. To his dismay, he couldn't get a clear shot at the Man. Dropping his bow, he charged through the brush even faster than before, his momentum breaking saplings, and he threw himself toward Anomen, landing on the elfling as the Cat's sword descended. The sword pierced the balrog-slayer's shoulder, and he quickly rolled off Anomen, his move wrenching the Cat's weapon out of his hand. Then he drew his own sword and thrust forward and down, disemboweling the Man. Glorfindel was grimly satisfied when he noticed that the blow had cut the Man through to the crotch.

"Taste of your own medicine," he said to himself as he stood above the dying Man. "I suppose I ought to put you out of your misery, but, really, what with my injured shoulder, I think I only had the one blow in me."

Fortunately for the Cat, Berenmaethor came up just then. He canted his eyebrows at Glorfindel and then knelt beside the Cat and cut his throat. Then he arose and addressed Glorfindel, who was stooping over Anomen to assure himself that the elfling was, in the main, unharmed.

"You seem to have sprouted an appendage in your shoulder."

"I know," Glorfindel replied calmly. "A trifle painful, I must say."

"Would you like me to draw it forth?"

"If you wouldn't mind."

"Not at all."

As he listened wide-eyed to the banter between the warriors, the events of the past days at last became altogether too much for Anomen, and he fainted.

"Wish I could do that," said Glorfindel wistfully, looking down at the unconscious elfling.

"Oh, by all means, feel free," said Berenmaethor as he laid one hand on Glorfindel's shoulder and gripped the sword hilt with the other. "As usual, I am going to count to three."

"Of course."

"One, two—"

"Ow!"

Also as usual, Berenmaethor had yanked at 'two'. This was an old joke between the two friends. Glorfindel had first pulled the trick on Berenmaethor a thousand or so years ago, and they had been trading off ever since.

Berenmaethor quickly and efficiently bandaged Glorfindel's shoulder—one gets very good at this sort of thing over the course of centuries—and then the balrog-slayer knelt down beside Anomen, who was beginning to stir. The elfling gazed up at a hazy globe the color of the sun. Gradually the scene resolved itself, and he found himself looking at Glorfindel, his face framed by his golden hair.

"You're not green," Anomen said confusedly.

Glorfindel snorted.

"I should say not! I'm no leprechaun or any other such imaginary creature. Can't you see that I am an Elf and no figment of your imagination?"

Anomen reached out and seized Glorfindel's hand. Yes, he was real enough.

Glorfindel's manner softened, and he gave a little squeeze to the small hand within his large one. Then he cleared his throat and tried to reassert himself as the balrog-slayer.

"Well," he said gruffly, "you and your brothers have given us all a dreadful turn."

"I'm sorry, Lord Glorfindel," said Anomen humbly. "Truly I am."

"You'll be even sorrier when your Adar sets you to laboring when you return to Imladris."

"Oh, no," said Anomen earnestly. "I don't think I could possibly be sorrier than I am now. You are hurt, and it is my fault. I will be so very glad to do any task set by you or Lord Elrond because then I can make up for some of the pain I have caused you—although I know I can never make up for it altogether!"

Glorfindel found that he once again had to clear his throat.

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure of that, my lad. We all make mistakes, and we all pay for them. When you have paid for your mistake—you already have begun to!—there will be an end of it."

"Do you really think so?" said Anomen hopefully.

"I do indeed," said Glorfindel firmly. "And now let us go to where your brothers have been hidden. After we've looked you over and seen to your injuries, we'll be able to make for Imladris."

Anomen's hand still in Glorfindel's, balrog-slayer and elfling went off in search of Elladan and Elrohir.


	6. Chapter 6

**_MysticHeero_**** Thanks for the thought even though wouldn't let you review that chapter!**

**_Joee_**** Yes, the "you're not green" comment is very childlike. I'm glad you like the way I did away with the Cat. It seemed a fitting end.**

**_Legosgurl_**** OK, we're making progress here. You _did_ stop to take a breath. Let's build on this now. How about _two_ breaths?  
_Karri:_ In this chapter, Anomen receives his "post-traumatic stress therapy."**

**_Dragonfly:_ More Glorfindel sweetness coming up.**

**_Blessing of Earendil:_ Hey, now this is getting a bit too kinky! (Author rattles chains indignantly, then remembers unlocking spell used by Gandalf—releases herself and grins triumphantly.). Um, I do have to warn you that I am going out of town next week, to Indianapolis, and I may stop writing for several days. (Jumps back a considerable distance from her computer before reader can react.)**

**_Andi_****_-Black:_ Here's your update, although it was not as fast as the previous one. Also, as I just mentioned to _Blessing of Earendil_, I am going out of town and likely will stop writing for several days.**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_**

**Green and Gold: Chapter 6**

Elladan and Elrohir were hidden in a thicket not so far away. With pleasure they and Anomen cast aside their filthy garments when Glorfindel instructed them to. The elf-lord looked them over and was relieved to find that for the most part they were bruised and scratched but had suffered little in the way of worse injuries. Anomen did have some cuts where the Cat had prodded him with his sword, but they were not very deep, none having penetrated into the muscle. After Glorfindel had satisfied himself that the elflings were not badly hurt, the young ones betook themselves to a nearby stream. There they bathed, generously and joyously slathering themselves with the lather of the soapwort plant, and afterward they gladly donned the tunics that were proffered them by Elves who chaffed each other good-naturedly over having to walk about half-dressed.

"Hey, Berenmaethor," called one, "have you again left your tunic hanging in an apple tree?"

This provoked considerable laughter. About a century ago, the unexpected return of an Adar and Naneth had forced Berenmaethor to exit an elleth's room by the window. He had climbed out clutching his clothes and had shimmied down an apple tree. Unfortunately, he had to abandon his tunic when it became tangled in a branch. The garment waved in the breeze throughout the night and into the next morning, a signal to all who passed that Berenmaethor had been there. The Adar had at last spied the tunic and retrieved it and, brandishing it, had taken it to Elrond, demanding to know what one of Glorfindel's scouts had been doing in the tree outside his daughter's room. Elrond had discovered just then that he needed a message taken to Lothlórien, and Berenmaethor had been chosen to carry it and to remain there awaiting a return message from the Lord and Lady of that land—a return message, that, presumably, those personages would not be in a hurry to compose.

Glorfindel had protested when Elrond told him of the mission that Berenmaethor had been assigned.

"Elrond, all you are doing is providing Berenmaethor with an opportunity to perfect his tree-climbing skills."

"Exactly—and why not? Wouldn't you say that it is an excellent skill, most needful for a scout, that he be able to make his way through the trees without leaving any sign of his passing?"

"Hmph!" snorted Glorfindel. "Useful in other situations, don't you know!"

"Of course! Isn't it a wonderful thing that the skills we teach our warriors prove to be helpful in more mundane settings?"

It took five years for Celeborn and Galadriel to compose a reply to Elrond's missive, and when Berenmaethor returned, he was soon acknowledged to be the most skillful of all the Rivendell Elves at wending his way through the trees without being detected. It may have been a coincidence, but no one ever again caught him climbing in or out of an elleth's window. Erestor opined that perhaps he had mended his ways during his stay in Lothlórien, but Glorfindel was doubtful. As for Elrond, he was not concerned as to the _reason_ Berenmaethor was not caught—just as long as he _wasn't_. Elrond placed a high premium on the maintenance of harmony within his domain, and an Elf who was not caught climbing trees contributed just as much to the maintenance of said harmony as an Elf who didn't climb trees in the first place.

Anomen, of course, knew nothing of this story. He was merely glad to be wrapped in something clean that did not stink of man-sweat. He also eagerly devoured the little scraps of lembas bread that were pressed into his hands by relieved Elves. The Elves hadn't been carrying much—when they had set out it was a search party, not as a war party that would travel for several days—but, as we all know, lembas bread is very filling, so the few tiny pieces sufficed, as they did for Elladan and Elrohir.

While the elflings bathed and refreshed themselves, Glorfindel set several Elves to dragging the bodies of the Men into a great pile in the clearing that had been their campsite. Other Elves gathered sufficient wood for a pyre. The elf-lord would not, however, let them set fire to the carcasses while the elflings were still nearby. He did not want the young ones to hear the roar of the flames or smell the stench of burning flesh.

"For now," Glorfindel said to Berenmaethor, "I do not want them to think on this matter. Time enough for that later, when they are safely back in Imladris. Let us leave behind two or three scouts who may oversee the pyre after the most of us have departed."

Washed, rested, and fed, the elflings set out on their return journey escorted by many happy Elves. Glorfindel set a path that would avoid their stumbling over Wollust's body, but when they did draw near the spot, he sent several Elves aside to dispose of the carcass. When those Elves returned, they quietly reported to Glorfindel that there really hadn't been much to bury. Several animals had gotten to the body first. Glorfindel nodded, not altogether disappointed. It seemed fitting to him that Wollust should have been devoured by beasts after death, for he had been consumed by passions whilst living.

The Elves marched steadily northward until light failed, and then they made camp. They had scarcely lit their campfires before rocks began to fall amongst them. They were being thrown from a line of trees to the west. The Elves huddled together in the middle of the clearing, the elflings in the center, and held up their cloaks to ward off the missiles. Meanwhile, Glorfindel, bow in hand, slipped out the side of the camp opposite from where the rocks were being thrown. A few minutes later, the Elves heard the thud of an arrow hitting wood, followed by a yelp. This was immediately followed by the sound of another arrow and a second yelp. Then the night fell silent. There were no more rocks.

The sky was clear that evening, and it rapidly grew cold. The older Elves, even the ones who lacked tunics, were not particularly troubled by this fact. As for the elflings, as the night grew ever colder, they might have suffered, but more and more Elves shed their tunics and carefully covered the young ones. By this device, Elladan and Elrohir were made tolerably comfortable. After awhile, however, as the frost began to coat the leaves, Anomen began to shiver. At last Glorfindel, moving carefully so as not to reinjure his shoulder, carefully lay down beside Anomen and with his good arm drew the elfling to him. Anomen's body went rigid when he felt an arm snaking around his waist, but then he recognized the smell like that of newly-cut pine branches that clung to Glorfindel even after a long day on the training field. Anomen inhaled deeply and relaxed against the balrog-slayer, wriggling a little to settle himself comfortably. Glorfindel chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest and tickling Anomen's back. Anomen giggled for the first time since he and the twins had run away from Imladris, and then he fell into a deep sleep untroubled by either the cold or ill dreams.

The next morning, an Elf who had gone aside to make water strolled back into camp with a deer slung over his shoulder, even though he had not taken his bow with him.

"Peace offering from the Dunlendings," he said to Glorfindel with a grin. The deer was promptly dressed, and the Elves, who had been on short commons for several days, gratefully feasted upon the venison. When they had finished, Glorfindel took the elflings with him when he went to retrieve his arrows. At first the elflings were reluctant to accompany him, for they feared what they might find, but the balrog-slayer said that what they would see would be all to the good. Sure enough, all they came across were two arrows embedded in a tree, and pinned beneath them tiny scraps of cloth. The elflings saw no trace of blood.

"The rock-throwers were mere boys," Glorfindel explained. "As one of them raised his arm to pitch a rock, I shot through his sleeve's end, at the wrist, pinning his arm to the tree. For good measure, I shot a second arrow through the other side of his sleeve."

Yes, the elflings could see that there was a wrist's distance between the two arrows. Anomen experimentally laid his arm upon the tree trunk, his wrist between the arrows, and saw that the Dunlending urchin was, in man-years, roughly of an age with him.

"The boy pulled his arm free," continued Glorfindel, "and he and his companions took to their heels. Judging from the deer, it appears that their parents appreciated the fact that we could have killed them."

Three days later the Elves crested the mountain that rose above Rivendell and gazed into the valley with great gladness before beginning their descent. Elrond, Erestor, Gandalf, and a great many others had come out to stand before the Hall when the returning Elves were still only halfway down the mountain, and when they at last arrived at its door, only words of joy were uttered. Chastisement would, the elflings knew, be in the offing, but this was a moment for thanksgiving and nothing more.

That night after dinner there was a general move to the Hall of Fire, where Anomen, abandoning any attempt at appearing grown-up, crawled into Gandalf's lap. Gandalf stroked his hair, and not only did Anomen not flinch, he positively reveled in the attention. His head against the wizard's chest, the elfling listened to the slow, steady beating of Gandalf's heart, the rhythmic sound reminding him that not all Men were evil, and certainly not this one. Suddenly he knew that Gandalf would plunge into an abyss rather than let any harm come to one whom he loved. It was both a reassuring and a frightening thought, but he was tired, so comfort won out over fear. He sat in Gandalf's lap, the wizard gently stroking his hair, until at last he dozed off. So deeply did he sleep that he never felt Elrond lifting him from Gandalf's arms and carrying him to the chamber that he shared with Elladan and Elrohir, where he awoke the next morning calm and happy.

Elrond allowed a week to pass before summoning the elflings to his chamber to hear him pass judgment upon their behavior.

"There are two offenses for which you are culpable," he soberly told the elflings, who stood before him bravely but contritely. "First, you rigged up a bucket to dump paint upon whomever passed beneath. The paint fell upon Glorfindel. He was not the target, but what you did would have been wrong even if the paint had fallen upon your intended victim."

"But," Elrond continued, "that was not the end of it, for you compounded your transgression by running away to avoid punishment. You put yourself in danger, and in an effort to rescue you, others ventured their lives—not the least of whom was the Lord Glorfindel, who was injured during the skirmish."

The elflings nodded solemnly.

"Now as to your running away," Elrond went on, "it seems to me that you have already suffered amply, for you endured both fear and pain enough to appreciate what your rescuers went through."

The elflings looked hopeful.

"But there is still the original offense," said Elrond.

The elflings wilted visibly.

"As your offense involved paint, it seems fitting that paint be the medium through which you make recompense to Imladris."

The elflings exchanged worried glances, for they at once assumed that Elrond meant to apply the paint to _them_. Elrond had to hide a smile.

"The kitchen has grown dingy. I deem that it would only be just if you three were to paint it—and mind you! be sure to apply a sufficient number of coats. One coat will likely not suffice."

The elflings now exchanged relieved looks—until they were struck by the full import of Elrond's words. The kitchen was a very large room. It had to be, for in it were regularly prepared meals for hundreds—not only for the residents of the Hall itself but for visiting Men and Elves and even Dwarves. As he watched the various facial expressions flit across the faces of the young ones, Elrond again had to hide a smile.

The next morning, toting buckets of whitewash, the three elflings entered the kitchen. To their bewilderment, as they gazed about them they saw that the walls were a sparkling white. The Head Cook bustled over to them.

"Here, now, what are you rascals doing in my kitchen!?"

"We are to paint the walls," said Elladan timidly.

"Paint the walls! Paint the walls! Whatever for? Haven't you got eyes in your head? Can't you see that they've been freshly painted? Got tired of staring at them, I did, and set the skivvies to the task just last week. Now be off with you! No—wait a minute! Made too many seed cakes, the apprentice baker did," he said, thrusting one at each elfling. "They'll only go bad. You might as well each have one."

"Ada will be angry if we don't paint the kitchen," protested Elrohir.

"_I _am the master of the kitchen," roared the Cook, "and no one, not even an elf-lord, will tell _me_ what to do in _my_ domain. If I say the kitchen is not to be painted, then it is not to be painted!"

"Here," he added more calmly, handing another seed cake to each elfling. "You might as well each have two. There really are far too many than are needed for tonight, and it would be a shame for them to go to waste. A cook is always pleased to know his work is appreciated. Now out of my kitchen! I know you'll purloin sweets if you linger here."

The elflings retreated to the garden and, being careful to stay out of sight of any windows, they quietly entertained themselves for the remainder of the day. It was not necessary for them to go in for the noon meal, as they had delicious seed cakes upon which to nibble, and Elrond assumed that they were hard at work in the kitchen and had had somewhat to eat there.

As it drew on toward supper, Elrond entered the kitchen to check on their progress. To his amazement, the task had been completed. He had thought it would take the three elflings several days. It was a very large kitchen.

As Elrond gazed about in disbelief, the Cook bustled up to him.

"Lovely job, isn't it?" said the Cook.

"Yes," said Elrond. "I am surprised."

"Why surprised, my Lord? A little paint judiciously applied will brighten up any room."

"True, but the task has been completed so quickly!"

"Ah, willing hands," said the Cook wisely. "Willing hands."

Of course, he was careful not to specify _whose_ willing hands. Bemused, Elrond turned to leave the kitchen. Suddenly, however, he stopped and stared intently at the newly-painted walls. "That's interesting," he murmured to himself. "Very interesting." Then he strode from the kitchen, a thoughtful look upon his face.

At dinner that night, the tutor Erestor smiled beneficently upon the elflings.

"Isn't it marvelous, Elrond," he enthused, "how hard the young ones worked on the kitchen? To complete the task in one day—that is remarkable, would you not agree?"

"Yes," said Elrond, "it does strike me as rather remarkable—even miraculous, I should say." He looked hard at the elflings, who gazed down at their plates as if something of great interest had suddenly materialized upon them.

Gandalf also gave the elflings a sharp look.

"Curious," mused the wizard, "how clean you elflings are after a day spent whitewashing the kitchen. Of course, it is not altogether surprising that Anomen should be clean—it would seem that dirt flees him—but how did you, Elladan, and you, Elrohir, contrive to avoid even the least splash of paint upon either your persons or your garments?"

"It seems to me," Glorfindel hastily interjected, "that it behooves us to be glad that the kitchen has been painted with so little trouble. The Cook is satisfied, that is certain, and if _he_ is satisfied, then so should we all be."

Elrond looked at Glorfindel with raised eyebrows but let the matter drop. As for Gandalf, as soon as the elflings dared to look up from their plates, he winked at them, and, given that encouragement, they once again began to take pleasure in the meal.

Later that evening, before going to bed, Glorfindel paid a visit to the kitchen, where the Cook was tidying up a few oddments before he, too, retired.

"My dear Cook," the balrog-slayer said to that worthy personage, "you have managed things very nicely indeed. I am in your debt! If there is anything you have need of, you have only to ask."

"Well, now you mention it, Lord Glorfindel, I haven't had a nice brace of pheasants to work with for awhile. Do you suppose you could scare some up?"

"I shall do so at the earliest opportunity."

The next day, Glorfindel decreed that archery lessons were to be replaced for a time by a 'practical exercise', and he led the novices into the brush and set them to hunting pheasants. This raised some eyebrows, including, of course, Elrond's famous ones, for Glorfindel was known to detest pheasant hunting. He much preferred hunting deer. Still, Glorfindel kept his charges at it until they had provided the Cook with enough fowl to feature the dish at table one evening.

"I must say," said Erestor as the Cook, with a flourish, set a platter of pheasant before him, "I must say that I wondered why Glorfindel took it into his head to go pheasant hunting, but I cannot complain at his odd behavior, considering the results. My dear Cook, the fragrance of this dish is alone enough to satisfy the palate!"

The Cook beamed and bustled away, bustling, of course, being his habitual mode of locomotion.

Elrond likewise enjoyed the pheasants, but, unlike Erestor, he was fairly sure he knew why Glorfindel had developed his sudden interest in the birds. You may remember, Reader, that the Lord of Imladris had observed something peculiar as he stood in the kitchen surveying its newly painted walls. Now, it just so happened that what he had noticed was this: the walls had not everywhere been painted white. Instead, two bands of color decorated the top of each wall. The color of these bands? I am sure I don't have to tell _you_! Suffice it to say that Elrond was heard to murmur to himself as he carved the pheasant, "If Glorfindel is satisfied, then so should we all be."

**OK, now I've got to get ready for my trip to Indianapolis. When I return, I will work on a new chapter for "Things Fall Apart." Stay well!**


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